Count the Ways
by TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba
Summary: A not-so-typical love story told in drabbles.
1. 1

**Disclaimer: **That should cover it.

A/N: This is how I study. Yes, I know I'm not doing it right.

Jundao: my OTCP (one true crack pairing)

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><p><strong>Map<strong>

They've been walking out of each other's orbits for years. Chances were against them, that the bounty hunter and the swordsman would ever meet, that their paths would ever cross for more than an instant. Fate decided otherwise.

**Laugh**

If he hadn't heard her laugh, he never would have looked her way. He never would have noticed that the pretty bar girl wasn't a bar girl at all. Because a moment is all it takes, and that was all he had before he was forced to duck to avoid being hit with the man she'd just tossed across his table.

**Stare**

That guy had been staring at her for the longest time. It was beginning to be aggravating. She turned to him.

"Do you have a problem?"

He finally blinked.

"Yes. I don't know your name."

Now it was her turn to stare.

**Blade**

"So what are you, like a wandering swordsman?"

"No, I usually know where I'm going."

"Odd that your destinations happen to be the same as mine. And I _am _wandering."

"Life is a mystery, isn't it?"

**Tactile**

They doubled back to avoid the guard's route, backtracked through an alley, scrambled through a crowded market, and ducked behind a fruit vendor's stand.

It wasn't until after she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and once the tromping of their boots passed that she noticed that they were holding hands. She snatched hers away like she'd been branded.

"Just to clarify, _you _were holding _my _hand."

"Whatever you say, lady."

**Man**

It wasn't like she didn't notice. It wasn't like she was blind. It wasn't that she wasn't straight.

She just wasn't sure that he was her type. He was all privileged, and rich, and oddly considerate, and kept trying to figure her out and…

Yeah, there was something wrong with her.

**Bar**

Two strangers walked into a bar, and the smuggler screamed like a little girl upon seeing the woman. When the man had to duck to avoid being hit with another man, he had the vaguest sense of déjà vu.

**Cry**

She stared down at the blood that covered her hands. Hands that couldn't save a life. Hands that seemed to be able to do little good.

A wash cloth was pressed into her hands. When she didn't respond, the dark hands took hers and wiped them clean.

"He's gone. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

She cleared her throat.

"Will you be all right?"

"...fine. It's just…dammit all! There was just so much money riding on this live bounty!"


	2. 2

**Time**

How long it takes for two people to become friends is relative. How long it takes to become the love of someone's life can take but an instant. The amount of time it took a man and a woman to become the love of each other's life, whether they were meant to be or not, was somewhere in between.

**Leak**

Knock, knock

"The roof is dripping water on my bed."

"So…?"

"So, Lord Gallant, either give up your bed or fix this."

"I think you're confusing gallantry with being whipped."

"That, I _can _fix."

**Dark**

"A trap door? Who does that?"

"Rich, paranoid men with a lot of time on their hands."

"Hey! Watch the hands!"

"I'm not touching you."

"Then what…"

**Window**

"Did he just –"

"Jump out the window? Yeah."

"We're up three stories."

"Apparently, he knew who I was."

"I'm jealous."

**Fear**

He wasn't a coward by any stretch of the imagination. Many a man have had the same problem when his heart beat too fast, and his palms sweat profusely, and his mouth went dry, and he couldn't properly form the words…

This had to be said very carefully. She was staring right at him, with this look.

"Well? What do you think?"

"I…I think that particular robe has perhaps too much fabric and might be designed incorrectly."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Meaning what?"

"It makes you look…" he held his hands up with space between them then gradually drew them farther apart.

Daggers came from her eyes, and by sheer force of will, he didn't turn and run.

**Sorry**

"Look, I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Uh-huh."

"I swear! I did not know that he was going to proposition you."

**Drink**

He watched her take the bottle to her lips and drink. The old man next to them had an identical bottle, took sparing sips, and nearly hack out his cuts. She offered him the bottle.

"Thank you, but no. I rather like my liver to function for a while longer."

"Wuss."

**First**

There were fireworks. A rather new occurrence, but festivals everywhere had them now. White and red sparks exploded in the sky. Green and blue scattered and rained down on watchers and passersby.

She walked on in front of him, moving through the crowd and barely glancing at the explosions. A funny, little impulse struck him, and he didn't ignore it. He caught her hand, and she turned to snap at him.

His lips took hers before she could.

There were fireworks.


	3. 3

A/N: If you like this story (which I assume you do because this is the 3rd chapter unless you're just randomly skipping around), then have a look at 'From Here to There', also Jundao. Just throwin' that out there.

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><p><strong>Dance<strong>

He loved Earth Kingdom dances. They were all rhythm, and flowing, and _hips. _But if she thought that he was about to get up and make a fool of himself –

She grabbed his hands and yanked him up onto the floor.

Then it would seem that she was absolutely right.

**Talk**

"What are we doing exactly?"

Considering their current positions, there was a rather awkward pause.

"…you mean you don't _know_?"

"I mean, where is _this_ going?"

"I had hopes for a pleasant afterglow. And what's wrong with where we are?"

"It's not…the same. You know that."

"Pretend I'm not. Explain it to me like I'm ten."

"It is _very_ difficult to pretend that you're ten."

"How about a naïve fourteen?"

"Woman, can you be serious for _five_ minutes?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Well, I _was _trying to work in a proposal, but you insist on being so _difficult_ and –"

"Proposal?"

"…That was the plan."

"Well, would you…like to try again?"

"No, sorry. You know, I'm just not in the mood for it now."

"Tch…_now_ who's ten?"

**Smile**

His lips were a thin line, but his eyes danced with hidden laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me. I like funny, too."

"It's just…if my family hadn't already disowned me for not being a firebender, I'm pretty sure you would have done it."

"Hehe...If my dad were alive, he would have buried you in the desert. Alive."

He wasn't laughing anymore.

**Fight**

"Is it necessary for you to drink so much or is it just habit at this point?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, do you find yourself thinking of drinking often or feeling compelled to do so. Do you _need_ it?"

"What are you getting at?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you might need help."

"Excuse you?"

"Have you ever heard of A.A?"

"…I _will_ hurt you."

"I know that's not _you _talking, darling."

**Sick**

His skin practically burned hers, but he sat in front of the fire wrapped in blankets and shivering. A wicked, insistent cough ripped through him, and she flinched from the force of it.

"Ow," he gasped when he was done and rubbed his chest.

Practically collapsing, he lay down on the ground, groaning the whole way.

"Men are _such babies_."

"Does that mean you'll hold me?"

"Ugh."

She did anyway.

**Family**

Technically, he hadn't been a part of a family since he was six years old, and his mother and father found out that their little boy had zero chance of ever setting anything on fire with his breathing. The orphanage didn't count, the military definitely didn't count, and if Fat was to be considered his family, that was a bit sad.

Maybe Fat was the disgruntled, cranky uncle he'd never had.

If that was the case, then they were now a family of three, and she would be the blunt, sarcastic niece the man never wanted.

"Wait, wait, wait. Your butler's name is _Fat_? _And _he has no sense of humor? You realize that's practically a challenge for me to throw as many fat jokes as I know at him, right?"

"I actually hadn't."

"Now, you know. You should put some people on standby; your butler might decide to disown you too."

**Monster**

She found out he had nightmares. He didn't yell or talk or thrash in his sleep. He choked and woke up gasping for breath, trembling, and sweating.

He'd fought in the war, seen people die, and killed more than his share. Of _course_ he had nightmares.

But she wasn't a comforter. She didn't know how to do reassuring, and she barely did _sweet._

She tried anyway.

She kissed his cheek, held him close, and hoped she was doing this right.

**Lost**

Weddings rings were such tiny things, that they were rather simple to lose. In the sink while washing dishes, putting on a little too much lotion, fooling around with a very intelligent, very mischievous shirshu that had paralytic venom for spit and easily able to swallow circular bands of gold…

She stared at her hand then at the shirshu.

"You know what? Keep it."


	4. 4

**Puzzle**

He was a lord. He was expected to be sociable and attend parties; now that he was married, his wife was expected to host them.

She was dressed impeccably, all reds and ebonies, yet her attitude was not something so easily concealed. As well behaved as she forced herself to be, they could still see she was edged with Earth.

The noble women who failed to catch him for themselves and their daughters watched her and tittered behind their fans.

"What _does _he see in her?"

They failed to notice that he was standing right behind them.

"Everything," he laughed, "that you don't."

**Weapon**

"Let me get this straight."

"Please do."

"You know how to use a sword."

"Uh-huh."

"Sai, bo staff, ninjato, various assortments of knives…Yet you used a _bullwhip _all those years_._"

"Yes."

"A bullwhip?"

"What can I say? Anything else would have made my job _way_ too easy."

**Sneak**

It took a while for her to notice, four weeks to be exact. It only took a day for her to convince herself to go see a physician just to be sure, and he confirmed her suspicions. In the time it took to walk back to the castle, she figured out how she would tell him the news.

"Baby."

"Hm?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

He stared at her, pausing a moment to catch up. He blinked, and his eyes drifted down to her still flat stomach.

"You're certain?"

"Uh-huh…Problem?"

"No. But I rather like the name Ronin."

"Yeah? Well, I rather like the effects of saki, but _I_ won't be getting any of that either."

**Persistent**

"Oh, come on. Can't I just have a little sip?

"I have never seen you take just a _sip_ of saki before. I doubt you'll start now."

"What, you want me to beg?"

"You actually _know_ how?"

"Please? _Please_? ...that's all I got."

"I see. In your condition, I hardly think that it would be wise. You can drink tea."

"…You hate me, don't you?"

"Be serious."

"I'm in a loveless marriage! How can I be _more _serious?"

**Date**

Theoretically, a baby is born every day. Out of the three hundred sixty-five days in a year, statistically, chances are that one will be born on a day that is already significant prior to the child's birth.

This is all merely a long way to say that the Lord and Lady of Shu Jing thought it was pretty amazing that their baby came to be born on the same day as his father.

**Small**

The sight of a new father and his child is only marginally less touching than a mother, but she was taking a well-deserved break.

"He's so tiny."

"Ha! From your perspective, maybe. Push a watermelon out of your body and tell me that's _tiny_."

**Shock**

"I realize how difficult the pregnancy was for you. While I usually don't approve of this…" he offered her a saki dish, filled with the finest of golden amber liquid.

"I…I don't…Okay, cannot believe I'm saying this, but I don't want any."

"You…what?"

"I'll just take some tea."

"You _what_?"

**Content **

Little fingers reached for her face, grabbed a tiny fistful of her hair and yanked weakly. Strong, dark hands gently freed her hair and offered his son his own hand to explore. The old butler poured tea and set out leftover cookies and tarts.

If it weren't the middle of the night and if mother, father, and uncle had more than four hours of sleep among them, the scene would have been ideal. Life hardly ever is, and it is often wasted wishing that it were.

Perfection or not, it was their life.

_Fin_


End file.
